


Winchester Warriors

by elliex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Destiel - Freeform, Post Season 8, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has trouble dealing with Cas's vulnerability as a human. </p><p>Cas has trouble dealing with Dean's protectiveness. He might not be an angel anymore, but he is still a bad ass.</p><p>They fight and bleed (as always) before they both admit what's really going on. </p><p>It takes Sam a little longer, but he totally ships Destiel.</p><p>*This story was fun to write but took a windy road... For anyone who reads, I hope you enjoy it!</p><p>Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW, et. al.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winchester Warriors

\+ + + +

“You doing okay back there, Cas?” Sam asked, turning to look in the back seat. 

“I’m fine,” Cas said, staring out the window. He was holding his left arm and blood was dripping through his fingers. 

Sam grabbed a bandana out of the glove box and handed it to his friend. “Here, try to staunch the blood with this.”

Dean glanced over and saw Cas’s bloody hand taking the makeshift bandage. “I swear to God, Cas, if you get blood on the upholstery—,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Dean,” Sam said, a warning in his voice. 

“It’s fine, Sam. I know how he feels about his car,” Cas said with more calm than he was feeling. “Don’t worry, Dean, I’m keeping my blood to myself.”

Dean shot a look at Cas in the rearview, but the other man stared resolutely out the window. 

“How about some music?” Sam asked, reaching for the volume. 

“How about not?” Dean asked. 

“Uh - okay then,” Sam said. Crap. If Metallica couldn’t lighten the mood, Dean was seriously pissed. Sam just couldn’t put his finger on why.

The tension in the silent car was knife-worthy. 

“Cas, wake me if you need anything, okay?” Sam said. Cas nodded, watching as Sam leaned his head against the window. The younger Winchester could sleep anywhere, anytime it seemed. 

Cas leaned his head back and shut his eyes against the hard green ones watching his every move. 

+

Dean slammed his door, knowing it was an abrupt way to wake Sam and Cas and not caring. He grabbed his gear out of the trunk and went into the bunker, heading straight for his room. He didn’t want to talk, and he didn’t want to listen.

+

Sam had woken up as soon as Dean parked the car, but he’d kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Dean’s anger was practically palpable, and quite honestly, Sam saw no sense in poking the bear. 

Though he knew it was coming, he flinched when the driver door slammed shut. 

“Cas, we’re here,” he said, getting out of the car.

Cas met Sam at the trunk to get his gear.

“Here, I can get that for you,” Sam said, reaching for his friend’s duffel.

“No, I’ve got it,” Cas replied, grabbing the bag. He stood back to let Sam lead the way into the bunker. 

+

Dean was pacing his room. He couldn’t sit still and what he really wanted to do was hit something. He’d go to the training room but that would mean he’d have to go out _there_ and deal with _that_ , and he surely did not want to do either. 

So he paced. 

He froze when a knock sounded at his door. He couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“Dean?” Thank God; it was Sam. 

“Yeah?” he called out.

The door cracked open. Sam eyed his brother, noting the tenseness of his body, his feral grace.

“I need your help,” Sam said.

“With?”

Sam sighed. “With Cas.”

“What did wonder boy do now, Sam?”

Sam stepped inside the room, shutting the door. Dean could tell by the bitch look on his brother’s face that they were going to talk. Great, just what he needed.

“Listen, Dean,” Sam paused, as if he were choosing his words carefully. For his sake, Dean hoped he was. 

“Yeah?”

“I saw Cas jump that demon without a second thought when it was going for your neck.”

“Yeah, he did,” Dean agreed. 

“Then why are you acting like such an asshat? He _saved_ you, Dean. What the fuck is going on?”

Sam waited for Dean to roll his eyes or snark or bitch. Instead, his brother locked his eyes on his. “Just let it be, Sam.” 

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off. “I mean it,” he warned. "Let it go.” 

“Fine, whatever,” Sam said. “But can you at least help me stitch him up?”

This time Dean _did_ roll his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered and followed his brother. 

\+ 

Cas was sitting on a cot in the outdated but serviceable infirmary. The bandana was soaked through, which should have alarmed him but didn’t. He’d suffered injuries much worse than this in his long existence. 

He heard Sam and Dean coming down the hallway and took a deep breath. He was not in the mood to deal with an angry Dean Winchester.

\+ 

“Hold still,” Dean ordered. The wound on Cas’s upper arm was ugly – a gaping, awful mess. Dean adjusted the light; yeah, that was bone peeking through.

“Shit,” he said.

“Told you,” Sam said. “Should we take him to the hospital?”

“Probably,” Dean said.

“ _He_ is sitting right here,” Cas said. “And _he_ says no hospitals.”

“You sure?” Sam asked. 

“Do it,” Cas ordered. His face was grim.

“You should go to the hospital,” Dean said. 

Flinty blue clashed against steely green. Sam looked away, uncomfortable. He busied himself with setting up the sutures kit.

“I said, _do it_.”

Sam clearly heard the smiting tone to Cas’s voice. Apparently Dean did too.

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine.”

+

Cas was seriously feeling the effects of the hunter’s helper he had consumed in lieu of anesthetic. That wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but he couldn’t say the same for the burning pain that used to be his arm. 

“There,” Dean said, tying off the last layer of stitches. “That’ll do it.”

Cas hissed when Dean splashed alcohol on the wound. Sam wrapped his arm with clean gauze, instructing Cas to lie back and rest for a minute. Cas was more grateful for that than he wanted to admit and fell into sleep almost immediately.

Sam gathered up the used supplies -- bloody bandages, swabs, rubber gloves – and tossed them into the trash. He ran the sink full of cold water and put Cas’s bloody shirts in to soak.

Dean was sterilizing the instruments and taking inventory of the emergency kit. “You want some help?,” Sam asked.

“Nah, you go on to bed. I’ll finish up here.”

Sam looked at Cas, lying still and pale, and realized how corpse-like the injured man looked. Sam shook his head to clear the disturbing association. 

He turned back towards Dean, who was restocking the kit’s supply of gauze and ointment. His brother looked rather pale too.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean replied. He took some butterfly bandages from the medicine cabinet and added them to the kit.

Sam watched as Dean worked. His brother stopped what he was doing and looked up at him.

“Go to bed, Sam. Everything’s fine, okay?”

Sam nodded slowly. “G’night then.”

“G’night."

Of course, Dean didn’t know that Sam looked back from the hallway, that he saw his older brother watching Cas with a look of anguish on his face. The sight wrenched something deep in Sam’s gut.

Sam blinked to clear his suddenly blurry vision and went on to bed.

+

When Cas woke up, he didn’t know where he was. He jerked to a sitting position, moaning when pain shot through his arm. 

“Whoa there,” a voice said – Dean’s voice. A strong hand reached out and grasped Cas’s uninjured arm.

And then Cas remembered – the job, the demons, the injury, and the anger. It all came crashing back, and his head spun with the information. Or maybe it was the hunter’s helper causing the spinning. He still wasn’t good at telling the difference.

“You okay?,” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Cas said, jerking his arm out of Dean’s grasp.

Though it was dark, Cas knew that Dean was glaring at him. Fine. He was glaring back.

“What the fuck, Cas?”

“I might ask you the same question.” Cas swung his legs out of the bed and gingerly stood. The room swayed back and forth a few times before it came to a stop. He took slow but steady steps towards the room that Sam and Dean had identified as “his.”

As he walked down the hall, he knew that Dean was behind him, waiting to see if he needed help.

Cas ignored him, and when he got to his room, he closed the door without turning around.

Shrugging out of his jeans, he climbed into bed and was asleep in minutes. 

+

Sam was up first the next morning and even he slept until 10 or so. He was on his second cup of coffee and reading the online news when Dean finally shuffled into the kitchen, his hair tousled and his eyes puffy.

“Morning sunshine,” Sam said, chuckling at the dark look Dean directed his way.

“Bite me,” Dean muttered, pouring a very large mug of coffee and drinking it reverently.

Dean kept glancing towards the hallway. Sam noticed.

“He’s not up yet,” Sam said.

Dean stared into his coffee mug. “Good. Not in the mood to play nursemaid this morning."

“You’re being an asshat again,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged. “Not your business, Sammy.”

Sam gave his brother _that_ look, but Dean ignored him. Sam rolled his eyes and went back to reading.

“I’m going to rustle up some breakfast. Want some?,” Dean asked, opening the refrigerator.

“Sure,” Sam said.

+

Cas didn’t wake up until after 2. He heard the distant thumps that told him the training room was in use. He rummaged in the refrigerator for food and found a foil-wrapped plate, “Cas” written on it with black magic marker. He re-heated the bacon and eggs, made a fresh cup of coffee, and ate his breakfast alone. 

When he was done eating, he washed his dishes, carefully arranging them in the rack to dry. Such small tasks comforted him; they helped him feel normal.

+

Dean was whaling on the punching bag when Cas walked into the room. Dean stilled the bag with his gloved hands, taking in Cas’s workout attire and the obvious favoring of his injured arm.

“No,” he said.

Cas didn’t respond or even look at Dean; he simply walked over to the free weights and began testing what he could handle.

A tanned hand came down on his. “I said no, Cas."

Fury washed over Cas, and he shook Dean’s hand off. “You are not my keeper, Dean.”

“Dammit, Cas—“

Cas whirled, pushing Dean against the wall and pressing his forearm against his throat. It was a move eerily reminiscent of that time in the Beautiful Room. Then, Dean had been no match for Cas’s angelic strength. That wasn’t the case now and both knew it.

Dean didn’t wrestle back control as easily as he’d thought, but he managed to flip positions – holding Cas by the shoulders and pressing him into the wall.

His eyes bored into wide blue ones.

“What. The. Fuck.” Dean said through gritted teeth.

Instead of answering, Cas kicked at Dean’s knee, knocking the hunter off balance and freeing himself from his grasp.

“If you were Sam, I’d knock you the fuck out,” Dean said. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Cas taunted.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked from the door.

“Get out,” they answered in unison.

Sam took in how they were circling one another, muscles tense, jaws set, eyes narrowed and measuring. For once, Moose listened and got the hell out.

Cas took the first swing, leading with his right; Dean narrowly avoided the full impact.

“I’m serious, Cas. Stop it."

“I’m not made of glass, Dean. You want to kick my ass? Why don’t you?”

What Dean most wanted to do in that moment was knock Cas flat, but he reined in the impulse. 

“Not a fair fight,” he said instead.

“What the fuck does that mean?,” Cas asked. They had stopped circling and were squaring off.

“What it means.” Dean gestured at the blood spots showing through the bandage on Cas’s arm. “You’re injured, you’re adjusting, and you’re –” He bit off the last word. 

Cas spat it out for him. “Human?"

“Well, yeah, Cas, if you want to be on the nose about it.” Dean closed the distance between them. “Look, man, you just have to be—"

Cas’s fist came out of nowhere and landed square on Dean’s jaw, and the hunter spun from the impact.

“That’s it,” Dean muttered, holding his jaw. He went at Cas, who was waiting and ready.

+

Sam stood in the hallway, listening. Dean and Cas were beating the holy hell out of each other, but he sure as fuck wasn’t going to try and break them up. 

He went to get supplies from the infirmary and to prepare some ice packs. They were going to need them.

+

Blood ran down Cas’s left arm – he’d felt the stitches in his arm break. His left eye was swelling shut, and he was pretty sure his cheek was bleeding too.

Dean looked about as bad. Cas felt a measure of pride in that. The skin around his right eye was bruised, and his bottom lip was split and swollen.

Cas was slowing down, and he knew he’d probably get knocked on his ass in the next few minutes. He was okay with that, though. He’d kept up with Dean, and that was what mattered.

+

Dean could tell that Cas was fading. He tempered his movements to avoid any real hurt.

+

Cas realized what Dean was doing. Anger infused him, and he used every last ounce of strength for one last swing.

Dean went down with a grunt.

Cas collapsed a second later.

+

“Wake up,” commanded a gravelly voice.

Dean was back on the forest floor, regaining consciousness only to find himself in Purgatory. Adrenaline flooded his system, and his eyes snapped open. He was looking up at a ceiling, though – not the dark sky of a land of abominations.

Dean glanced sideways. Cas was also flat on his back, looking straight up, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Are we done?,” he asked Cas.

“I don’t know,” Cas answered. “Are we?”

Dean said nothing. Neither did Cas.

+

Cas moved first. Dean watched through his lashes as Cas sat up and then stiffly stood. When he turned towards the door, the word burst out of Dean: “Wait.”

Dean found himself sitting up, holding the edge of Cas’s t-shirt in his hand as if it were a life preserver. 

“What?,” Cas asked.

“Talk to me, Cas. What’s going on here?”

Cas sighed. He’d acquired his own distaste for “sharing and caring,” as Dean called it.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean said. “Is this about losing your angel mojo? Or is it about —”

Dean didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so he didn’t.

+

Sam wasn’t sure how to interpret the silence. Either they’d killed each other or they’d finally gotten it – whatever _it_ really was – out of their systems. 

He walked towards the training room, not sure if he wanted to see the carnage.

The room was trashed. They’d managed to knock over the free weights – Sam did not want to imagine the bruises from that – break a wall mirror, and tip over an equipment cabinet whose contents were now strewn across the floor.

The scene that really caught Sam was off in the corner, where the fight had apparently ended: Cas standing, bloodied face, bleeding arm, and Dean, also bloodied, still on the floor, and holding the edge of Cas’s shirt tightly in his hand.

The two were locked in one of their endless stares.

The charged emotion in the room told Sam that this was intimate. Unseen, he slipped back into the shadows and padded softly down the hall.

+

Cas was the one to break the silence. “I’m not made of glass, Dean – I’m not fragile.”

“You’re human now, Cas – that means you _are_ fragile.”

“No more than you are."

Dean gave him an exasperated look.

“How am I more fragile than you?,” Cas asked.

Dean sputtered – “Well, uh, you’re new at this, and you’re, uh—”

“I watched the creation of this planet, Dean. I might be ‘new,’” Cas said, using air quotes, meaning he was really pissed, “but I’m not stupid or helpless. You forget that I was an _angel_.”

“But you’re _human_ now, Cas,” Dean said, standing so that the two were face-to-face.

Cas saw the pleading look in his friend’s eyes. “What is _this_ about to you, Dean?”

Dean licked his bottom lip and ran his hand through his hair—clear signs that he was trying to figure out what to say. Cas knew his tells better than anyone, even better than Sam.

Finally Dean sighed and met Cas’s intense gaze. “I don’t want you to get killed.”

“I don’t want you to get killed either,” Cas responded. “Doesn’t that go without saying?”

“Yeah, but – uh – now, if something happens, what if –” Dean broke off and took a breath. “If something happens to you, it’s my fault,” he finally managed to say.

“And how do you figure that?,” Cas asked.

“Before Purgatory – Hester said – do you remember?” Dean really didn’t want to repeat it.

“Yes. She said that your touch corrupted me.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah. That.” It was even worse hearing the words from Cas’s mouth.

Cas gave him an incredulous look. “You know that’s not true, don’t you?”

“Part of me knows, yeah. I guess,” Dean admitted. “But there’s a part of me that also knows I’ve complicated your life—you would still be a full angel if you’d never rebelled.”

“If I’d never rebelled, I would have never known what it is to _live_ – as an angel or as a human, Dean.”

Dean shook his head as if he didn’t believe him.

“I thought you’d learned to have faith.”

“In what I can see,” Dean said.

“Then _see me_.” Cas stepped closer, forcing Dean to look into his eyes.

“We just spent the better part of an hour beating the crap out of each other,” Cas said. “Am I broken? Am I dead?”

“No,” Dean said with a short laugh. “No more than I am.”

“Exactly.”

“But you could be,” Dean said.

“So could you,” Cas replied. “Death being in the cards isn’t new, Dean. We've just been lucky so far.”

“Things aren’t the same, Cas, and you know it.”

“Okay,” Cas nodded as if he agreed. “Tell me what’s different.”

“I—I can’t,” Dean said.

"Then show me."

+

They moved at the same time—Dean wrapping his arms around Cas, splaying broad hands across his back. Cas slipping his right arm tightly around Dean’s waist.

Dean looked into Cas’s eyes – There was no hesitation, no questioning, just acceptance. It wasn’t something Dean had seen often in his life.

He bent his head and chastely pressed his lips against Cas’s. Dean drew back, laughing when Cas’s eyebrow quirked upwards—the message “that all you got?” loud and clear.

Dean took the challenge seriously. This time, he deepened the kiss, mapping Cas’s mouth with his tongue. Cas kissed back just as fiercely, and the sensation of their tongues moving against one another left him weak.

Cas trailed his mouth down Dean’s neck, kissing and sucking at the delicate skin.

Dean gingerly touched his now-even-more-swollen lip. "Ow,” he muttered.

“Poor thing,” Cas said, lightly touching a finger to Dean's mouth.

“Shut up,” Dean said. He tightened his hold on Cas, and they rested their foreheads together, closing their eyes and holding onto one another for a long moment. 

Dean’s body was thrumming, some parts painfully so, from the sensation of Cas’s body against his. He eventually had to pull away.

“Can’t take it, can you?” Cas asked with a laugh.

“No, I can't. I'm not up for playing chicken tonight" Dean said. “And neither are you - I can tell.”

+

Sam was doing research at the table in the great room when Dean and Cas finally came in from the training room.

“You guys good?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Dean and Cas shared a look. “Yes,” they answered in unison.

“Well, I’m not playing nurse for either of you,” Sam said. “You broke it, you fix it.”

Dean gave his brother a withering stare and grabbed the supplies. “You first, Cas.”

Sam could tell that Cas was about to argue. He knew that Dean could too.

“No arguments,” Dean said before he could. “You’re the one bleeding all over the floor.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but he let Dean re-stitch his wound and put ointment on his abrasions. 

“Your turn,” Cas said, nodding at the chair. Sam expected Dean to refuse and do it himself. Instead, his brother did as he was told.

Huh, Sam thought. That’s new.

“Tilt your head,” Cas instructed, wiping away the blood that had dripped down Dean’s face and reaching for a butterfly bandage.

That was when Sam saw the blossoming of burst blood vessels on Dean’s neck—He started to make a joke about Cas literally punching Dean in the neck when everything clicked into place… _Oh._

“Anybody want a beer?,” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Bring two.”

Sam nodded, quickly turning to hide the grin on his face and walked into the kitchen thanking The Powers That Be.

 _That_ was finally settled.

He took his time getting the beers. He even microwaved some popcorn and grabbed Dean’s nasty licorice.

Dean and Cas were settled on one of the couches, ice packs in hand, and watching a Chuck Norris marathon on television. 

It looked like any other movie night, Sam thought.

“Are we having a party?,” Dean asked when he saw the loaded snack tray.

“I figured we deserved a treat,” Sam said. He wanted to add, _Yeah, we’re celebrating that you and Cas are finally figuring shit out._ But he didn’t.

“Uh-okay. Pass the licorice, then.”

“It’s all yours, cowboy,” Sam said, handing his brother the bag.

“Here, Cas. You have to try this,” Dean said, passing Cas the licorice.

Cas eyed the limp black rope with distrust, but he took a small bite. The face he made was priceless. “That’s disgusting, Dean,” he said, tossing the licorice back on the tray. Sam guffawed at that.

“Infidels, both of you,” Dean muttered. “Can we watch the movie now?”

+

Sam fell asleep during the movie, waking up during the credits.

Dean and Cas were asleep too.

Sam pulled out his phone and took a picture of the two, knowing that Dean would kill him if he found out, but this was photo gold.

Dean was sprawled out on the couch in his usual fashion. The difference was that he had his left arm tightly wrapped around Cas, whose head was on Dean’s chest.

It was – well, sweet. And it made Sam smile.

If they could finally find each other, maybe there was hope for the world after all.

Sam left them and went on to bed.

+

_A Few Weeks Later_

Dean came in from the post office carrying an orange package that he tossed in Sam’s direction. “Mail for you."

Sam grinned. “Thanks, man."

+

_Early December_

Dean’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Kevin: “LOL.”

Dean shook his head. Clearly, the kid had intended the text for someone else.

Then he got a text from Missouri, of all people: “It’s about time, sugar.”

He hadn’t heard from her in ages, but maybe she knew he’d finally signed up for some online classes with Kansas U.

Then a text from Charlie. “DUDE. Love the card.”

Okay, that was weird. He texted back, “What card?”

She didn’t respond -- That was suspicious; he knew that she lived online.

When Garth texted a heart emoticon, Dean knew something was up.

He walked into the kitchen where Sam and Cas were making dinner. “Okay, what’s going on? Am I the only one getting these messages?"

Cas checked his phone and looked surprised. “I have them too. Sam?”

Sam checked his. “Nope, not me. Maybe they’re mis-texts,” he suggested, using his best “I’m innocent” face.

But Dean knew that look. It was the look of someone profoundly _not_ innocent.

“What’d you do, Sam?”

Sam sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But it’s no big deal, really.”

“What’s no big deal?,” Cas asked.

Sam shrugged. “I just thought it was time we sent out Christmas cards; that’s all.”

Dean gaped at him. “Christmas cards? We’ve never sent cards in our lives.”

“Well, now we have an address and real lives, and I thought it was time,” Sam explained.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Cas said.

“See?” Sam said. “Cas gets it.”

Dean eyed his brother.

“Spill it, Sam."

Cas watched the two, knowing that Dean was picking up on something that he was not.

“Well, I actually framed one for you. I thought we should commemorate it,” Sam said.

“So where is it?,” Dean asked, knowing something big was about to go down.

“Here,” Sam said, handing his brother a rectangular frame wrapped in newspaper. His eyes twinkled.

Dean took the package and carefully tore it open. The shock on his face was evident.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asked, moving beside him to look. Even his jaw dropped.

“Sam. You have a five-minute headstart,” Dean said.

Sam laughed.

“I suggest you take it,” Dean added in a tone that brooked no kidding around.

“I think he’s serious, Sam,” Cas said quietly.

Sam looked between the two and nodded. He was out the front door in seconds.

+

“Are you really going after him?,” Cas asked.

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna kick sasquatch’s ass for this,” Dean said.

He held the framed photo card up. “Despite the bruises and the swelling, it’s a good picture, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Cas said, clearly amused. “Where shall we put it?”

“How about in our bedroom? On the shelf next to your vinyl collection?”

“It’ll look good there," Cas agreed. "But you’d better hurry if you’re going to catch him.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Dean said. “No matter how far he gets, he has to come back in that door. I’ll be waiting.”

Cas pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s lips. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I _will_ ,” Dean assured, handing Cas the photo and taking off in pursuit of his brother.

Cas carried the framed photo into their room, setting it where Dean had suggested.

It really was a good picture of them – and of Sam, who’d inserted a floating headshot of himself wearing a Santa hat.

Even the printed message was appropriate, Cas thought: _Happy Holidays from the Winchester Warriors_ indeed.


End file.
